


The Way You Look Tonight

by EmeraldOcean



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical 1930s, Chicago (City), Christmas Time, Cockles, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Sexual Harassment (slight - and not between Jensen and Misha), Singer Jensen, Waiter Misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldOcean/pseuds/EmeraldOcean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas time, in Chicago, in 1938 and Misha Collins is a waiter at the prestigious Palmer House hotel. A series of unfortunate events conspire to give Misha one very awful day, but the hotel's golden-toned singer and band director, Jensen Ackles, does his best to make sure that Misha's day gets just a little bit brighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Look Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> So, I heard the song, "The Way You Look Tonight" (Originally sung by Fred Astaire) and couldn't help but think of Jensen and Misha. This story came from that... you'll see what I mean.
> 
> I used Jensen and Misha instead of Dean and Cas for this story because I just felt that their personalities fit the characters better. I honestly know next to nothing about the actors' personal lives and relationships so you won't find any of that here. It's basically an AU so take that as you will. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment to tell me what you think!

“You’re late… Again.” The cultured British accent sounds even more irritated than usual.

“What can I say? I like to make an entrance.” This isn’t the first time that Misha has been late to work – he has a tendency to lose track of time, especially around the holidays when the city streets and store fronts are all decorated so beautifully. His walk down State St. to the Palmer House hotel where he works usually takes twice as long this time of year. Not only because the snowy, cold Chicago winters make it take longer to get anywhere, but because Misha likes to bask in the glow of the Christmas lights and fantastically done-up department store windows. 

Today though, it really hadn’t been completely his fault. He had left his apartment early enough, giving himself extra time so that he could complete his journey at a leisurely stroll. But he had run into an unexpected road closure a couple of blocks away from the hotel. There had been an automobile accident that had spilled over onto the sidewalk and Misha had had to double back and walk the long way around, going up Jackson and down Michigan Ave to Monroe. 

And to make matters worse, in his hurry to get to work on time he hadn’t been looking where he’d been walking and had stepped off the curb and into a pothole full of half-frozen wintery slush. So now his right foot and partway up his calf was soaking wet and chilled to the bone. He knew his wait staff shift was going to be miserable and uncomfortable, but he hoped that at least no one would notice. 

“Don’t get smart with me, Collins. And what in hell happened to your trousers? You’re dripping all over the floor!” Well, there goes his hope that no one would notice. His boss, Mark Sheppard, is the maître d’ of the Palmer House and in charge of all of the wait staff. The two have never been what anyone would call ‘the best of friends’, but as much as Sheppard may want to fire Misha, he can’t deny that Misha is an excellent waiter. He has a personal charm that wins over even the most highfalutin of patrons. “There isn’t time for me to replace you this evening so you’ll still be working the dining room. But if you come in late one more time…” 

“Of course, Mr. Sheppard. Thank you, Mr. Sheppard.” Misha does his best to sound contrite, but he knows that Sheppard’s threat is an empty one. There’s no way he’d get rid of his best employee. 

Sheppard just gives him a withering look and hands him a list of the night’s specials before leaving the kitchen. Misha glances down at the list – ‘prime rib with roasted potatoes and brussel sprouts’, and ‘poached salmon with rice pilaf and broccoli’. There are other available items of course, soups and salads, oysters and shrimp cocktails. But those are the two main entrees on special to choose from tonight. Misha commits the list to memory and then sets about to make himself as presentable as possible. 

He steps into the employee restroom and takes a towel to the bottom of his trousers, drying them as best he can. He then walks over to look in the mirror and attempts to straighten his unruly hair. He had used pomade before he had left the apartment but his rush to make it into work on time had caused him to sweat a bit, and wisps of his raven hair to fall out of its perfect coif. 

Deeming himself respectable enough with comb and water, Misha moves to leave the room, arriving at the exit just in time to be smacked hard in the forehead by the door as someone else forcefully pushes it open. 

Misha lets out a pained shout and stumbles backward, clutching his head. Then there’s an unfamiliar voice sounding scared and offering apologies, and someone else’s hands hovering awkwardly in front of his face. 

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have been more careful. Are you alright? What can I do?” Misha feels his head gingerly to make sure that he isn’t bleeding (he isn’t) and then looks to the newcomer – the man is a little bit shorter than himself, blondish hair, blue eyes, looks very young, probably around twenty or twenty one. He’s wearing the same waiter’s uniform as Misha but he’s never seen the man before. 

“It’s ok. I’m alright. Who are you?” Misha walks back to the mirror to view the damage. There’s a bump – it’s red and will probably bruise something awful, but there’s no cut. 

“Oh! Sorry! I’m Tyler, Tyler Johnston. I’m new… it’s my first night.” The young man holds out his hand as if to shake Misha’s hand but seems to think better of it and just sort of lets it fall back to his side. “This is not how I’d hoped to make a first impression.” He shifts his gaze down to his feet and Misha can’t help but feel sorry for him. He’s having a terrible day himself and he knows that being cross with Tyler for something that wasn’t intentional won’t help either one of them. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, ok? Accidents happen. Just try to be more careful from now on, alright?” Tyler looks back up to him with a huge smile on his face, looking utterly relieved. He looks like he’s about to fall down and kiss Misha’s feet in gratitude, which normally Misha might get a kick out of, but he knows that it’s late so he makes a show of looking at his wristwatch before he speaks again. “Well, we’d better hurry up if we don’t want to get a tongue lashing from Mr. Sheppard.” He opens the door and gestures for Tyler to precede him out of the room. “Shall we?” 

Tyler just smiles and nods, and then walks out the door. Misha takes a deep breath to steel himself for the night and follows. He hopes things will get better as the night goes on. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things do _not_ get better as the night goes on. First, it’s the previously aforementioned oysters. There had been a mix-up on the supplier’s end and they’d ended up with only half the amount that they had ordered. And of the ones that they had received, half of those had been spoiled. All of the kitchen and the wait staff had been subjected to Sheppard’s ensuing melt down with all of its colorful expletives, and very early on in the evening Misha had had to apologize often and profusely to the patrons that the oysters were off the menu tonight. 

The Palmer House’s particular clientele unsurprisingly did not, on the whole, take disappointment very well. Misha didn’t think he’d ever uttered the words “I’m so very sorry,” quite as often as he had in the last hour. The words were starting to lose all meaning to him at this point. 

He turns to his next table and Misha knows for sure that he’s about to have to say it again. Seated at the table is Sebastian Roche, son of Martin Roche. Martin Roche had been one of the lead designers of the Palmer House renovation in the mid-1920s and his son is a frequent guest. He always asks to be seated in Misha’s section and he _always_ manages to slip inappropriate comments into polite conversation and surreptitiously grab Misha’s ass without anyone else noticing. He’s dealt with worse from much more horrible men but tonight is a bad night and just knowing what’s about to happen is setting Misha’s teeth on edge. 

“Good evening, Mr. Roche.” Misha doesn’t bother acknowledging his companion for this evening. She’s just the latest in a long line, Misha doubts he’ll see her more than once or twice. “I’m sorry to have to inform you that we are unfortunately out of the oysters this evening, but can I interest you in a delectable shrimp cocktail instead?” 

“You can certainly interest me in something delectable, Misha.” And there it is… the hand on his ass. “And we’ll take the shrimp cocktail as well.” Sebastian winks at him and Misha forces a polite smile as he writes down the order. 

Before either can say anything else, everyone’s attention is brought to the bandstand by the sound of a muffled crash and the abrupt lack of sound where a golden-toned voice had just been crooning out a beautiful melody. The band is still playing but the conductor and singer, the dashing and (usually) smooth Jensen Ackles, is fumbling to right the microphone stand that has somehow gotten knocked to the ground. He manages to get it back in place and pick up the song pretty seamlessly with only a slight self-deprecating chuckle and a quick wink that Misha feels is just for him. The whole room (Misha included) chuckles along, they can’t help but indulge the handsome, green-eyed man’s boyish charm. 

Well, with the exception of one person who doesn’t find Jensen quite so charming… “How that buffoon still has a position here, I’ll never understand,” says Roche. “When he sings, it sounds like someone is strangling a wolverine.” 

Misha knows that this is patently untrue – Jensen has the voice of an angel. When he sings, it makes Misha feel warm all over and never fails to bring a smile to his face. When he lets himself focus on it, the whole world falls away and nothing and no one matters to Misha but Jensen and his beautiful music. But instead of telling Roche where to shove it like he really, really wants to do, he plasters on a huge fake smile and takes the rest of their dinner order. “I’ll be back shortly with those cocktails.” He doesn’t miss the second grope to his behind (how could he?) as he leaves to return to the kitchen, looking on wistfully at the bandstand as he goes. 

“That man is insufferable!” Misha exclaims loudly to anyone who cares to listen when he enters the kitchen, handing the order over to Ty Olsson, the head chef. “Why does he have to ask for me _every_ time he comes in here? I swear he only comes in on nights that I’m working.” 

Misha peeks his head out of the ‘outgoing’ door to try to catch a glimpse of Jensen on the bandstand but the man is nowhere in sight now – they must be taking a break. “I’m pretty sure that Sheppard tells him your schedule,” says Ty. 

Misha looks back at him with a scowl. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He walks up to the prep table and starts assembling the shrimp cocktails on a tray. When the tray is complete, he gives Ty a long-suffering look and says, “Wish me luck,” before he heads to the door. 

“Good luck!” shouts Ty. 

Misha plasters on another fake smile and pushes on the door lightly only to have it slammed back in his face, toppling the tray with the shrimp cocktails down the front of his uniform. 

“Damn it all!” Misha looks up from the disaster at his feet to see Tyler poking his head in the door and looking like he’s about to wet himself. He enters the kitchen completely and sets down his empty tray before quickly bending down to clean up the mess. 

“I’m so sorry, again, Misha. I guess I’m not used to the two door system quite yet.” Misha tips his head to the ceiling, praying silently for patience that he’s not sure he’s capable of at this point. He breathes deeply and squeezes his eyes shut tight before opening them again and joining Tyler in the clean-up effort.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Tyler. Just, you know, try to be more careful.” Tyler gives him a grateful smile and proceeds to pile shrimp and broken glass onto his previously empty tray. “Can I count on you to get this completely cleared away? I have to go change my shirt.” 

“Of course, Misha! I’ll get this cleaned up in no time!” Misha nods to him and then leaves the kitchen. 

He heads to his personal cubby to retrieve the extra shirt that he keeps there for occasions such as this and then retreats to the restroom to change. When he enters the restroom, Jensen is washing his hands at the sink. He looks at him in the reflection of the mirror and notices the large red stains on Misha’s white shirt. Jensen gives him an affectionate smile and a slight chuckle. “Did you finally stab Roche with his salad fork?” 

“If only…” Misha mumbles darkly as he hastens to remove his jacket. He undoes his white bowtie and then proceeds to unbutton his shirt. Jensen turns off the sink and grabs a hand towel. He turns around and walks towards Misha, wiping his hands on the towel. 

“Having a rough night?” he asks. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Misha responds. He removes the soiled shirt and turns to set it down on the counter behind him. He picks up the clean shirt and when he turns back around he almost drops it. Jensen is directly in front of him, so close that Misha thinks he can almost feel his breath on his face. Those gorgeous green eyes are mesmerizing and whatever Misha had meant to say gets lost on his tongue. He darts his eyes down to Jensen’s mouth and the man has the audacity to lick his lips, causing any thoughts in Misha’s mind to evaporate like the morning dew on the grass when the sun hits it. “Uh… I-I… um…” 

Misha closes his eyes in hopes that his brain may start working again without the distraction of gazing at the stunning beauty standing before him. He feels something damp and a bit rough on his cheek and he opens his eyes to see Jensen softly wiping his face with the hand towel. “You had a bit of something… just there,” he says. He shifts the towel to his left hand and then uses his right to run the backs of his fingers down Misha’s cheek in a gentle caress. “All gone now…” 

Misha swallows audibly but before he can say or do anything in response, the restroom door opens very cautiously, causing them both to spring apart. Jensen spins around and returns the hand towel to its hook by the sink and Misha slips on the clean shirt, buttoning it up as Tyler slowly opens the door the rest of the way and walks in. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt…” he says, looking first at Misha and then at Jensen with a bit of a confused frown on his face. 

“Nope, not interrupting anything. I was just leaving,” Jensen tells him, and then looking to Misha, “I hope your night gets better, Misha.” Misha nods his thanks and then Jensen is gone, out the door and back to the bandstand, presumably. 

“Did you need something, Tyler?” Misha finishes buttoning up his shirt and tying his tie and then he walks over to the sink to wipe off the few spots of cocktail sauce that made it onto his jacket. 

“Oh, um… Mr. Sheppard told me to tell you ‘to get your annoyingly attractive behind back out to the dining room because Mr. Roche is asking for you’.” He develops an adorable blush as he says this and tries very hard not to meet Misha’s eyes. “Sorry, he said to say those words exactly.” 

Misha rolls his eyes – of course Roche would refuse to deal with anyone but him. “Tell him that I’ll be right there, Tyler.” Tyler nods and turns to run out the door, stopping himself right before he barrels through it. He gives Misha a sheepish smile and slowly opens the door before hastily going through it. “Well, at least he’s learning,” Misha says out loud, to his reflection. 

He finishes making himself presentable, again, and leaves the restroom as well, wondering what other awful things the night has in store for him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time he returns to the kitchen, Roche’s entrees are ready so he assembles the plates on a tray and brings them out to the dining room. Sheppard had informed him that their cocktails had already been delivered and cleared away so he wastes no time in bringing out the entrees. 

“Here we are… two prime rib specials.” He serves the dishes and then straightens up to look at Roche. “Is there anything else I can do for you right now?” Roche’s guest is paying no attention to their table or to Misha, she’s turned around in her seat and conversing with a woman at a nearby table. 

Roche grasps Misha by the arm and pulls him down so that he can whisper in his ear. “There’s nothing more that I require right now, but later… Misha, I want to see you… I’m spending the night here tonight, my usual room.” He slips something into Misha’s pocket before continuing. “Meet me there after you finish your shift tonight.” This time, instead of a grope to the ass, Misha feels Roche’s hand slip up the inside of thigh, stopping just short of Misha’s crotch before he squeezes, and Misha looks around quickly to make sure no one notices while the man’s hot breath ghosts over his cheek. "I’ll make it worth your while.”

Misha straightens up and takes a step back but gives the man a smile. “Just let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll be back to check on you in a while.” Roche gives him a knowing smirk and Misha tries _really_ hard not to brain the man with his empty tray. 

Just when he thinks that he can’t possibly take one more minute of this dreadful night, Misha hears the opening bars of a very familiar song and he turns to see Jensen standing at the microphone looking directly at him. 

_Some day, when I’m awfully low_  
_When the world is cold_  
_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_  
_And the way you look tonight_

Just like that, Misha feels ten times better. Everything that’s happened to him tonight – the wet foot, the bump on the head, the saucy shirt, even the continued harassment by Roche – is forgotten, swept clear away like the spilled cocktails. 

_Oh but, you’re lovely, with your smile so warm_  
_And your cheeks so soft_  
_There is nothing for me but to love you_  
_Just the way you look tonight_

He can’t help but just stand there, staring like a fool at Jensen while Jensen goes on staring right back. Misha knows that the song is for him – this beautiful, sweet, wonderful man is speaking directly to him, trying to make him feel better about this night from Hell. 

_With each word your tenderness grows_  
_Tearing my fear apart_  
_And that laugh… that wrinkles your nose_  
_Touches my foolish heart_

Misha knows that he’s got a goofy smile on his face now, but he just can’t help it. His nose does wrinkle up when he laughs. He’s always felt a bit self-conscious about it, even though Jensen has told him more than once that he thinks it looks ‘cute’. 

_Lovely… Never, never change_  
_Keep that breathless charm_  
_Won’t you please arrange it? ‘Cause I love you_  
_Just the way you look tonight_

“You know, if you’re just going to stand there, you might as well join us…” Misha turns to look at Roche when he speaks, remembering quite suddenly that there are in-fact more than just he and Jensen in the room. 

“No, no… I was just going.” He begins to walk back to the kitchen but he does so slowly, pausing at the door to look at Jensen once again. The man is still facing forward but his head is turned toward Misha and he gives him a wink and a warm smile before he brings the song to a close.

_’Cause I love you_  
_Just the way you look tonight..._  
_Just the way you look… tonight_

Misha sighs deeply and pushes through the door to the kitchen. _Heaven help me…_ he thinks, _I’ve never been so in love…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night doesn’t magically get better after that but Misha is just too happy to care. Jensen sang him _that song_ and the words fill his heart and buoy him along through the rest of Roche’s patronage, Tyler’s frequent mistakes, and every other little obstacle that Misha encounters during his shift. 

By the time the dining room is closed and everything is cleaned up and readied for the next day, the band has long since retired for the night and Misha can’t wait to rest his weary (throbbing) head. He goes to collect his coat and hat (and soiled shirt). Along the way he puts his hand in his pocket and encounters something metallic and remembers that Roche had slipped something into his pocket earlier in the night when he had made his indecent proposal. Misha pulls the object out and discovers that it’s a hotel room key, the number clearly etched into the metal. 

He slips the key back into his pocket and sighs as he collects his things. He puts on his coat and hat like he’s preparing to go outside, but instead he slips up the back staircase to the second floor and then takes the elevator to the top floor. No one is around to see him this late at night, except the elevator operator, but he knows Misha, and he knows to mind his own business too, so Misha isn’t worried.

Once he reaches the 25th floor, he steps off the elevator and walks to the suite at the end of the hall. He pulls a key out of his pocket and opens the door, stepping in quickly and quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He hangs up his coat and his hat and slips out of his shoes before walking further into the room. There’s music playing softly from the record player in the corner as he removes his jacket and his tie, hanging them over a chair before slumping down into the sofa with a sigh. 

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the sofa, and then he hears a soft voice speak from above him. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come tonight.” Misha opens his eyes to see Jensen looking down at him, a soft smile on his face and a drink in his hand. 

“Of course I came. When have I ever said ‘no’ to you?” Jensen just quirks an eyebrow at him and Misha says, “On second thought… don’t answer that.” He looks at the drink in Jensen’s hand and then back up to his perfect face. “Is that for me?” In answer Jensen hands him the drink, then sets his strong hands on Misha’s shoulders and begins to massage them. Misha moans and drops his hand with the drink to his lap, letting it rest on his leg as Jensen does something magical to his sore muscles. “Have I ever told you how much I love your hands?” 

Jensen chuckles. “You told me that just this morning, when you were in my bed.” 

Misha smiles, remembering just what those wonderful hands had been doing to his body this morning. “Oh yes… how could I forget that?” Jensen drops a kiss to top of Misha’s head and then walks around to join him on the sofa. He sits at the other end and pulls Misha’s feet up into his lap. 

“Why is your foot damp?” he asks as he pulls off Misha’s socks, one by one, and then proceeds to rub soothing circles into Misha’s arches with his thumbs. 

“I stepped in a puddle when I was walking to work,” he answers, placing the drink on the end table and lying back into the arm of the sofa. 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just go to work from here when you spend the night. It makes no sense to go all the way to your apartment and then all the way back here every time.” It’s an old argument. They spend some nights here at Jensen’s suite at the hotel, and some nights at Misha’s apartment. They have to keep up appearances though, as Jensen well knows, so Misha likes to limit the likelihood of being seen by someone who might have objections by leaving very early in the morning and returning to his own apartment for the day when he spends the night here. 

“You know why, Jensen.” Jensen looks like he wants to say more about it so Misha tries to head him off by changing the subject. The familiar tune playing in the background gives him inspiration and he says, “Thank you for the song, by the way. It really made my night better.” Jensen ducks his head and smiles, dexterous fingers continuing to work out the kinks in Misha’s sore feet. 

“It’s been a while since I sang it, and I could tell that you needed something to get you through the evening. It did seem to be a spectacularly bad one.” Misha just hums his agreement, eyes closed and head rested against the cushioned arm of the sofa. “Especially with how that Sebastian fellow was acting.” He says it softly, almost as if he’s only speaking to himself, but Misha can detect a hint of something… jealousy or possessiveness, maybe a bit of both – so he lifts his head and looks at Jensen, wondering how he’ll take the bit of news that he has to tell him about Roche. 

“He asked me to come to his room tonight.” 

Jensen snaps his head up and yes, there it is, there’s outrage in his expression as he grips Misha’s foot so tightly that it’s uncomfortable, bordering on painful. “He did what?!”

Misha pulls the room key that Roche had given him out of his trousers pocket and tosses it down on Jensen’s end of the sofa. Jensen picks it up and examines it briefly before standing up abruptly, the key held tightly in his fist. “I’ll kill him!” 

Misha stands up and puts a placating hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You’ll do no such thing.” He pries the key out of Jensen’s trembling fist and plunks it down on the table next to his drink before turning back to Jensen and places his hands on either side of Jensen’s cheeks. “Jensen, calm down. You know very well that neither one of us can say or do anything to the man… If Sheppard finds out about us we’ll both be out of a job.”

“I know, I just... I don’t like it.” Jensen runs his hands down Misha’s arms, over his sides, and down to land on his hips. “I despise the man!” Jensen tightens his hold on Misha’s hips possessively. “I have to stand there and watch him practically maul you and I can’t even challenge the despicable creature!” 

Misha pulls Jensen’s head to rest on his shoulder and hugs him close, soothing his hands down Jensen’s back in a calming manner. “I know, darling… believe me, I know. Do you think I like having to endure his advances with a placid smile on my face and no recourse to get him to stop? But what can I do? You know very well that there’s nothing I can do.” 

Jensen snaps his head up to look at Misha. “You could quit.”

“Jensen, I-“

“No, Misha, hear me out…” Misha looks at him dubiously but keeps his mouth shut. “You could walk in there tomorrow and tell Sheppard, and Roche, to stick it where the sun don’t shine and quit!” Jensen has a manic gleam in his eye and Misha is worried that this is going to turn into an argument.

“And then what? Then I’d be out of a job, _and_ have no reference. Who would hire me then?!” 

“You wouldn’t have to get another job! You could attend the university, just like you’ve always talked about!” It’s true, Misha has had dreams of attending the University of Chicago for a long time… but that’s all it’s ever been, just dreams. 

“And how would I afford that? Not to mention money to pay for food and rent?” Jensen shrugs, the air of excitement not leaving him for a moment. 

“You could move in here…” Misha gives him a quelling look. “… Or I could move into your apartment. Either way, I make more than enough to cover our expenses. And as for tuition and such… we’ll figure it out.” 

“We’ll figure it out?” Misha asks dubiously and Jensen rolls his eyes, fed up with Misha’s skepticism – usually it’s the other way around and Misha is the one trying to convince Jensen to do something spontaneous and not well thought out. 

“Just give it some thought, Mish. I want you to be happy and I know you’re not happy with your work life, not really.” He moves his right hand to cradle Misha’s face, rubbing his thumb gently over Misha’s cheekbone. Misha can see the love in those brilliant green eyes and he knows that there’s nothing that he wouldn’t do to make this man happy, no matter how fanciful or ridiculous the endeavor. 

“Ok.” 

“Ok?” The smile that lights Jensen’s face is dazzling.

“Ok. We’ll look into it. No promises, of course, it may just not be possible… but we’ll look into it. And if we can swing it, then I’m in.” Jensen pulls Misha in and without further ado, he kisses him breathless. The joy and love in that one kiss is palpable. Jensen is such a physical being – he’s capable of saying so much without ever speaking a word. 

When he pulls back, smiling bright as the noonday sun, Misha can’t help but smile back. He loves this man so very much; he doesn’t know what he’d ever do without him. “But for now… take me to bed? It’s been a long and beastly day.” 

Jensen kisses him quickly once more and says, “Whatever you want, baby. Anything you want.” 

“Anything I want?” Misha asks, a mischievous look overtaking his face. 

Jensen leans forward, letting his hands rest on the swell of Misha’s ass as he pulls their bodies together and whispers in his ear. “Anything…”

“Well in that case… I want you to do that thing with your hands that you were doing to me this morning.” Misha’s exhaustion is rapidly diminishing as Jensen flashes him a charming grin and takes his right hand in Jensen’s left, grasping him about the waist with his other hand. He pulls Misha clear of the sofa and begins to lead him in a simple two-step around the suite to the sound of Fred Astaire’s ‘Cheek to Cheek’ coming from the record player. 

Misha’s never been a very good dancer, but Jensen is superb – he could lead even the most awkward partner in a fluid glide from one point to another without the other even knowing how they got there. Case in point – Misha looks around to see that they’ve ended up in the bedroom, Jensen swaying them gently as he sings quietly in Misha’s ear. 

_Dance with me_  
_I want my arm about you;_  
_The charm about you_  
_Will carry me through to Heaven… ___

_I’m in Heaven,_  
_And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak;_  
_And I seem to find the happiness I seek_  
_When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek._

Misha smiles – Jensen’s confidence and charm has always worked like some sort of elixir on him, making him forget his troubles and feel warmth bubble up in his chest. He closes his eyes and then Jensen stops singing and begins to press sweet, lingering kisses to the side of his neck, clever fingers working on undoing the buttons on Misha’s shirt. 

When he’s finished with the last button, Jensen slowly pushes Misha’s shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, moving his mouth lower to nibble and lick over Misha’s collarbone as his hands move down to begin working on Misha’s belt and the fastenings to his trousers. 

Misha just stands there, eyes closed and hands hanging limply at his sides as he revels in the feel of Jensen’s lips on his skin. Right now, he’s exactly where he wants to be, with exactly who he wants to be with. 

Jensen spends the next hour showing Misha, without words, how much he loves him and just how skillful those hands of his actually are. When they’re done, Misha is sweaty and exhausted, but sated and peaceful – curled up in Jensen’s strong arms, hovering in that space between awake and asleep where everything feels heavy and warm. He’s just on the cusp of falling completely into dreamland, the comforting feel of a hand petting through his dark locks, when he hears Jensen speak.

“We’ve both got tomorrow off… How about we stop by the university and inquire into the enrollment procedure? And maybe after we could head over to Grant Park and see the Christmas tree?” Misha smiles and places a kiss to Jensen’s chest, just over his heart.

“I’d like that,” he says, snuggling in even closer. Whatever life deems fit to throw his way in the future, Misha will be ready for it. As long as he has Jensen by his side, there’s nothing that can keep him down. No matter how cold the world may be, Jensen’s glow will keep Misha warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I may write additional stories for this work if there's enough interest... I have ideas!


End file.
